


I Don't Know Who I've Become

by MarigoldFlowers



Series: In Memory of Another [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: ? - Freeform, Angst, Azula Is A Damaged Child, Character Study, Child Neglect, Childhood Trauma, Crying, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I just.. felt sad for her, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Motherly Affection, One Shot, Oops, Other, Pain, Past Child Abuse, Plot Bunny that ran away from me, Prison, Redemption, Regret, Short, kind of, okay?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 12:31:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19151080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarigoldFlowers/pseuds/MarigoldFlowers
Summary: She was never a gentle child. But she was a child all the same.Or:Azula learns the meaning of missing someone.





	I Don't Know Who I've Become

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyo! I recently watched the video Psychology of Azula (on youtube) and it basically dissected all her mental problems. It was... heavy. It's hard to be reminded that she was only fourteen when she had a mental breakdown and almost killed her own brother, but when it's put into perspective with everything else, it makes sense. I've always found mother & daughter relationships fun to write, ESPECIALLY IF ITS ANGSTY HAHA 
> 
> so 
> 
> this is the outcome. Enjoy!

There isn’t much to see in her cell. It’s lit by the singular lonesome torch that sits just outside of the cloying metal bars, bringing the only whisper of warmth within darkness. The cold barely bothers her; Azula is a firebender-- practically the best in her Nation, but even she cannot help the shiver that runs up her spine. Her hands are bound by ropes encircled in leather, barred from any kind of bending. 

 

For the first time in her life, there is nothing for her to destroy but herself. 

 

Still, Azula tries. Tries to summon lighting, fire, anything-- 

 

She is a warrior at heart, the  _ rightful  _ heir apparent to the throne of the Fire Lord. People will bow to her out of fear no matter what they truly think, and she will rule over them with power-- 

 

And she is still locked in a cage with nowhere out. 

 

Azula has no way of counting the days, so she doesn’t. Time passes in strange ways while you’re trapped in a place with no sunlight. The only way of keeping track of hours is when the guards bring her food every once in a while. Zuko isn’t a monster, (not like her,) and doesn’t give torture by starvation a spare thought. Well, her brother has always been weak. There’s no doubt there. 

 

So time passes and she  _ lives _ , wretchedly and sparingly, glaring into the darkness with a pit of anger held deep in her.    
  


Sometimes, she dreams. She dreams of everything and everyone, of times long past before her and the possibility of what comes after. Most of the time they aren’t even happy dreams-- not by a long shot. They’re torn with images of burning cities and billowing fumes of firebender infantries leading the world into warfare, her father’s cold eyes and her brother’s pain. 

 

But she also dreams of her mother, most of all. Soft hands and deft fingers gliding through her hair. A stern but passionate voice that lifted over hers. Embraces that always ended with a kiss on her forehead. A kind of warmth that her fires can never recreate. She used to drink up these little moments of comfort hungrily like a drowning man starved of oxygen. She was never a gentle child. But she was a child all the same. 

 

There are moments when she curses out her mother for leaving, for  _ abandoning.  _ It hurts like nothing she’s ever experienced before. There was never a chance for her to confront that loss, but now, confined to a prison that cages her voice in on itself, there is. In another life, Azula would never take that chance. In another life, she would scoff and turn away. 

 

But she just  _ misses _ Ursa  _ so much.  _

She’s twelve and barely growing into the mold of the heir apparent when Zuko is branded. She’s thirteen and well into her teens when her father commands her first kill. She’s fourteen and the world burns around her as she  _ laughs.  _

 

Zuko is the firelord now. He has everything that she’s ever wanted and more. He has the respect of the people, hell, even  _ friends.  _

 

Azula is all alone. 

 

When someone is gone, there’s no confirmation of death. Just the lingering possibility-- that devastating idea of hope that grasps her mind with such finality that Azula crumbles. A part of her recognizes that her mother left because of her, but she pushes down that thought, too. There is regret simmering beneath her, threatening to break her, and she’s faced with the crossroads of her identity that knocks her off-balance like never before. But hope has always been a difficult thing to kill.    
  


It has now been 8 years since her disappearance, and Azula still fantasizes about an alternate outcome. That senseless hope is hard to smother, the off-chance that someday she may see her face in a crowd, as familiar as her own reflection.  When they find each other, maybe they will fight. 

 

And then maybe her mother will take Azula into her hands and kiss her forehead exactly like she used to with a smile on her lips and an apology on her tongue. 

 

_ “I love you,”  _ She’d say. 

 

Azula curls her firsts and drops her head to the concrete floor. Her eyes burn with the intensity of several suns-- and then there’s drops of tears dribbling down her cheeks. Her face heats with shame, because a Fire princess does not _cry,_ but there is no one in the cage except for her and the flicker of the torch. So she lets herself. There is a kind of agony that tears at her heart, of rage and fear and _hurt._ Unbidden, years of pain flow like a river from an ocean. There are scars of her past that cut deeper than knives and sear harsher than dragon fire. And there is _hope._ Cruel, terrible, miserable _hope._ It has been so long since she has felt the gentle touch of another. It has been even longer since she felt true affection. Azula wants what she cannot have. Even if it’s happiness that she craves. Love that she desires-- despite everything that she says. There is regret in the sobs that wrack at her ruined soul. Regret of hundreds, thousands, of millions of things. 

 

_ I miss you,  _ she screams into the walls.  _ Why did you ever leave?  _

 

And:  _ Why did you ever leave me? _

 

There is no response, of course. 

 

But sometimes, she wishes. 

 

Her cell is lonely and she is lonely and the world spins on as a girl of fourteen weeps for her mother. 

 

It feels like an evil twist of fate for her to be so disgustingly vulnerable. Azula is supposed to be the heir apparent-- no-- the Firelord, the conqueror, the destroyer. But perhaps she has forgotten that she is still human. 

 

The torch flickers, swaying. There is no more light now than there was before, no less darkness or humidity. But as Azula takes a breath and sighs, the weight of everything on her shoulders feels lighter. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
